Unmasked
by Mrs.POTO
Summary: John Blake has always hidden behind a façade, not to hide the truth, but to mask the pain. In the midst of Gotham's Reckoning, he meets someone who eases the pain and is eventually able to remove the mask. Blake/OC Set during and post-TDKR
1. Chapter 1

**Hello fellow fanfiction readers. I want to start out by introducing this story. A couple months ago, I began writing my first story, a Les Mis fanfic. Unfortunately, I didn't have a plan for how I wanted the story to go, so I stopped writing it and eventually deleted it. Now, here I am with this John Blake/OC story. I have a plan in mind and will finish this story. Ever since I saw The Dark Knight Rises, I've had this idea, and now I'm ready to write it all out. Please give this story a chance and give any feedback you can. Constructive criticism is welcome! Keep in mind that this is the introduction. It will liven up and get better, I promise. Now that I've written a long author's note, read and enjoy!**

* * *

I had never planned on calling Gotham my home. Living in such a chaotic, congested city had never appealed to me. In fact, it still didn't, but right now it was my only option.

I've always loved knowledge and learning, but I didn't apply myself in high school due to my excessive laziness and procrastination. At the beginning of my senior year, I realized I should have actually made an effort to excel. I couldn't afford college, and unless I was given a scholarship, I wasn't going anywhere. I applied to every college I could imagine, and was accepted to nearly all but without the funds to attend. Eventually I received an acceptance letter to Gotham University along with a full scholarship. The move from my quaint North Carolinian home to the metropolis of Gotham was a culture shock to say the least, but adjusting wasn't as difficult as I expected.

* * *

Now, in my senior year at GU, I was completely comfortable in my new home. I was majoring in journalism. Going into college, I had no clue what type of career plan I wanted. But, I had to make a decision, and at the time, I picked what I thought would be easiest for me to take on.

Within my first few weeks in Gotham, I had my own apartment, and I had gotten a job at St. Swithin's, an orphanage for boys. At the orphanage, I worked as a secretary, managing the files and personal information of the boys. I also dealt with the few visitors who stopped by or any potential foster parents. My work days didn't always consist of desk work though. I completed any random tasks Father Reilly, the owner and manager, needed to be done. And because boys will be boys, I've had to learn a good deal of first aid since the orphanage couldn't afford to hire a full staff of specialized employees. My job didn't pay well, but it was exactly what I wanted. It wasn't stressful like most of Gotham City's fast paced businesses, and I loved the boys whom I considered as family.

Although I had almost completed my studies to become a journalist, I had lost the interest to pursue that career. Despite the low pay, I couldn't imagine myself leaving St. Swithin's for another job.

I glanced down at the file of St. Swithin's newest orphan, Kyle Williams. Inside his file folder was his birth certificate, social security card, several medical records, miscellaneous documents, and a photo. I began entering his basic information into the computer database: full name, date of birth, his late parents' names, other family members, and important medical information.

Kyle was only six years old, and as I did with all the new boys, I conducted an internet search of his parents. I guess it was a pretty nosy thing to do, but it helped me connect with the boys better when I knew their situation, even if I couldn't ever fully understand.

I pulled up the _Gotham Times_ online newspaper and typed in the names: Matt and Jessica Williams. The search found two results, and I clicked on the most recent article titled with a chilling headline.

**_Husband and Wife Found Slaughtered in the Narrows_**

I scanned the article until I found what I was looking for.

_...Since the Dent Act was enacted, the crime rate has decreased significantly in all areas of Gotham, including the Narrows. Few truly mysterious murders of this caliber have taken place since the terrorism caused by the Joker eight years ago, but the cause and killer remain unknown. Matthew Williams, age 31, and his wife Jessica, 29, were found mangled in the alleys of the Narrows Tuesday night..._

I exited the web page without finishing the article, unable to read anymore of the details. No child deserved to lose his parents, but losing them in such a horrible way was incomprehensible. Wiping a tear, that had formed unknowingly, from my eye, I closed his file folder and placed it among the rest of the others in the filing cabinet.

The soft bell ring of the door opening diverted my attention from the morbid subject. I stood from my chair and stepped to the front desk to greet a handsome man whom I recognized as a semi-frequent visitor, but surprisingly we had never met.

"Can I help you?" I asked, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in police uniform, and his dark hair was cropped in the usual cop style.

"Is Father Reilly here?" He asked with a trace of anxiety in his voice.

"Yeah, I'll get him for you," I replied. "Just a minute, please." I left the room and walked to Father Reilly's office, to let him know he had a visitor. I returned to my desk, and said over my shoulder, "He should be out in just a second." The man nodded, and Father Reilly appeared soon after.

I resumed my other documentary work, but was distracted by their conversation when I recognized the name they were speaking of - Jimmy, Mark's brother who had left the home almost a year ago.

"Jimmy hasn't been here for months," Father Reilly said.

"Why?" The officer asked with a furrowed brow.

Reilly explained, "You know why, Blake. He aged out. We don't have the resources to keep boys on after sixteen."

"The Wayne Foundation gives money for that," Blake objected.

"Not for two years now," Father Reilly sighed. St. Swithin's had been suffering recently from lack of funds, and everyone there - the boys and employees felt the effects.

"He has a brother here, right?" Blake asked.

"Mark, I'll tell him."

"I'd like to, if that's okay."

"Sure. Anna, can you take Officer Blake to Mark? He's on the play ground." Father Reilly asked.

"Sure, follow me," I said, motioning to Blake and heading through the house toward the outdoor recreation area.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, he spoke up. "I'm John...Blake," he said, introducing himself.

"Anna Griffin," I offered, with a slight smile. I could tell that he was distressed by the news he had to inform Mark of. From what I overheard, Jimmy was found dead and had drained from the sewers.

"So what exactly do you do here?" John inquired curiously. It was apparent that he truly cared about the orphanage and the boys who lived here.

"Well, pretty much whatever needs to be done. I work mostly with the files though, but I try to spend a lot of time with the boys. They're really great kids," I admitted.

"Here we are," I announced, opening the door to the play ground. Once we were outside, I scanned the area of boys until I spotted Mark who was playing basketball. I walked over to him, leaving John behind and waved at many of the boys whom I had become very close to.

"Hi Mark," I smiled, trying not to give away the fact that he was about to receive bad news.

"Hey Anna!" He grinned. Despite my close relationship with most of the boys, I had always connected best with Mark. He was like the younger brother I never had. "Who's that guy?" He asked, looking to John who was now approaching us.

"Mark, this is Officer John Blake. He wants to talk to you for a second. Is that okay?" I asked. I've learned that with the boys, it is important to give them a sense of authority and let them make their own decisions. They are more trusting when they know that you aren't forcing them to do anything they aren't comfortable with.

After pondering for a moment, Mark decided skeptically, "Uh, yeah, sure."

"Alright, well if either if you need me, I'll be at my desk," I informed, before glancing at Mark and John one last time.

"Thanks Anna," John offered a dimpled smile.

I returned the gesture, waved to Mark, and resumed my desk work inside.

The file cabinet was in disarray, and I regretted not keeping the files better organized. I began to arrange the files back into alphabetical order, and after about fifteen minutes, John entered the room.

"How did it go?" I asked.

"He took it pretty well, but he seems to think there's some kind of work down there," he answered, wearing a bewildered expression upon his face.

"Work in the sewers?" I questioned sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm not sure, but Jimmy isn't the first boy that we've found," he admitted.

"It seems like there have been a lot of murders lately, after such a long time of a low crime rate," I sighed, remembering the parents of Kyle Williams.

"The last few weeks have been a little suspicious, but nothing too serious. Hey," he said, looking at his watch and changing the subject. "It's 12:15. Do you want to go get some coffee?" He offered, grabbing the back of his neck and revealing his distinctive dimples.

"Sure," I accepted with an uncontrollable grin, trying to hide the blush that was creeping to my cheeks. I was 22, and here I was acting like a giddy 13 year old girl. We were simply going to a coffee shop. It obviously wasn't a date, but he was incredibly adorable yet strikingly masculine. The fact that he was in uniform didn't help either.

Gathering my composure, I continued, "I'm on my lunch break. I'll need to be back in an hour."

I grabbed my purse, and walked around the front desk to where John was standing. He took the lead and opened the door for me.

A gentleman?

I raised my eyebrow skeptically for a moment before I realized he was serious. In North Carolina, I couldn't even find the stereotypical "Southern Gentleman." I never expected to meet someone in Gotham who took the time to open doors for other people. _Wow, this guy was genuinely nice_, I thought.

My expression of disbelief morphed into a wide grin, and I walked through the door.

John Blake: gentlemanly cop who visits orphanages in his spare time? Tell me I'm dreaming.

* * *

**There is the intro! I hope it was okay. Please give the chapters to come a chance. I have really interesting idea for where I want this story to go, and I hope you'll continue reading. Please review, favorite, and follow! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is Chapter 2! I want to thank everyone who read Chapter 1. I received one review and several follows and favorites. You guys are awesome! I forgot to write a disclaimer, but obviously, I don't own The Dark Knight Trilogy or anything associated with Batman, except for the movies of course. in hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

The streets of Gotham were surprisingly pleasant, a light overcast hanging just over the skyscrapers. Fewer people lined the streets and sidewalks. Autumn was approaching, and the crisp air was refreshing unlike the usual congested, stuffy atmosphere of the big city.

"Have you ever been to The Grind?" John asked, breaking the silence.

"No, how is it?" I questioned. Honestly, I didn't drink coffee. I was a tea person, but I loved the ambiance of a quaint coffee shop. They were always so relaxing and cozy, and they usually had a wide variety of hot teas, which I was always in the mood for.

"The best," he grinned, his cheeks stretching from ear to ear.

"Cops and their coffee.." I shook my head jokingly. "Will we be getting donuts too, Officer Blake?" I giggled slightly.

He looked at me resentfully, obviously not appreciating my comment, but couldn't help cracking a smile. "Hey! I'll have you know that I don't eat donuts."

"No?" I asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"No, too sugary. You'd be surprised how much it weighs you down when you're trying to chase criminals," he explained with a hint of sarcasm hiding in his voice.

"I'm shocked, but I'm willing to bet you drink your coffee black."

John looked mildly astonished by my accurate assumption. "How did you..?"

"Stereotypical cop," I bantered.

"I've always drunk black coffee," he stated matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes playfully and chuckled. "What? You probably drink some girly cappuccino."

"I drink tea," I corrected, tucking a wavy, caramel colored lock of hair behind my ear.

* * *

The walk took ten minutes at most to arrive at The Grind. That's what I liked most about Gotham. Almost everything was within walking distance, and for some reason, I loved to walk. Don't ask me why, but I found it calming, peaceful. Despite the business of the Gotham streets, walking sometimes reminded me of home.

"Here we are," he announced as we approached the cute coffee shop. He opened the door for me once again, amazing me for a second time with his chivalry.

I stepped inside and took in my surroundings. The front counter had the large generic menu behind it, but the rest of the shop was completely unique. The interior resembled a small cottage, decorated with varying shades of brown and red. Dim light fixtures hung from the walls, giving a light glow and relaxing ambiance. Artistically woven rugs adorned the floor, while wooden tables and chairs, positioned on the left side of the shop, created a home-style feel. On the right, were large comfortable-looking chairs surrounding an unlit fireplace. The Grind was slightly crowded, but not claustrophobic like most of Gotham's restaurants. It was perfect.

We took our place in line behind several other customers. After a few seconds of me looking at the menu, John asked, "What are you getting?" as he pulled out his wallet. I immediately recognized the gesture, and as kind as it was for him to offer to pay, I hardly knew the guy.

"John, I barely know you. I'm not letting you buy my drink," I protested.

He shook his head to himself. "Alright."

He ordered a black coffee, as I predicted, and I got a green tea for myself. I payed the cashier, and we stood for a moment waiting for our drinks.

Once we had received our brews, we headed to the inviting comfy chairs. John sat down, and I took the seat beside him. I positioned myself pleasantly in the cozy chair, facing John. The way I was sitting probably wasn't socially acceptable, but the chair was too comfortable for me to sit like a proper lady should. Leaning against the chair's arm, I took a sip of my steaming tea. The warm liquid was soothing, and I couldn't help but smile at how delicious it was.

John must have noticed my expression because he spoke up. "Good?" He asked, visibly enjoying his own drink.

"Great," I smiled. I would definitely plan to visit The Grind on my lunch breaks from now on. The only thing that could make it better would be to have a good book and blazing fireplace.

"So what made you decide to work at St. Swithin's? John asked, diverting my attention from my drink.

"When I initially moved here, I just wanted any job I could find. But once I started searching, I realized that I wanted to do something that I could enjoy and that would also help other people. These kids deserve a good life," I paused. "I can't necessarily give that to them, and I can't begin to understand what they're going through. But I can at least try."

The expression painted upon John's face was filled with many different emotions, some unrecognizable, but others were obvious. I saw pain and something that almost appeared to be admiration.

I wanted to ask what his connection was to St. Swithin's, why he visited so often and why he cared so much about the place, but I decided against it. That conversation was for another day, and it looked like what ever it was, he wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet.

I waited in silence before I spoke again and finally continued. "What about you?" I asked. "Why did you decide to become a cop?"

He was taken aback by my question, but resumed to his easy going self immediately. "Well, I guess for the same reason you decided to work at St. Swithin's. I want to help people. I want to keep criminals off the streets and keep innocent people safe."

I took a final sip of my tea, and looked at him earnestly. I had known John for less than a day, but felt as if I could tell him anything. "Do you have any idea how good of a person you are?" I didn't mean to actually say that, but it slipped. Too late to take it back now. He was just so nice, and I couldn't believe how much he cared for other people. His motives weren't corrupt like many of the cops I had heard about who worked in Gotham while the mob was in control. He simply snorted in disbelief.

Before anything else could be said his police radio went off. He answered quickly, and spoke in law enforcement terms that I didn't understand with an indiscernible voice.

"That was my partner," he told me. "There's been a situation downtown, and I have to go. I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely for his duty. "Do you want me to walk you back to work?"

"No, it's fine. Go ahead," I assured. We exchanged phone numbers, and he stood to leave. "Thanks for bringing me here, John," I said honestly.

"You're welcome," he said, showing of those characteristic dimples, and he waved goodbye.

I continued sitting for the remaining few minutes of my lunch break, pondering the previous events of the walk back to work was short, and my mind kept reverting back to John, his kindness and dedication to other people and also the pained expression that had taken over his face earlier. I was unsure of where this acquaintance was going to go, but I knew for certain that I wanted to spend more time with him.

It seems as though I'd made a new friend in Gotham, but I wasn't necessarily sure if I wanted John as my _friend_.

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**Okay, that was Chapter 2 for you. I hope you liked it. Don't forget to review, favorite, and follow if you enjoyed it and want me to continue :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to Chapter 3! Sorry it took a little longer to update this time. I've been pretty busy for the last few days. Thanks to everyone who has read, favorited, and followed the story. Don't forget to review! This chapter doesn't have John in it, and I apologize...but, it's a necessary chapter and I didn't want to lump too much in at once. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Back at St. Swithin's, there wasn't much work to be done. Several visitors stopped by, and after going through the usual visitor check-in process, the remainder of my shift consisted of sitting at my desk and staring blankly at my computer monitor. Sitting at my desk made me realize how bored the boys must get. Sure they had a great play ground area, but even boys had to eventually tire of sports. I began to try and think of other things that they could do here.

As my work day was ending, I gathered my things and shut down the computer. Father Reilly walked in to make sure the day had gone smoothly. He did this everyday to ensure that nothing went wrong or out of the ordinary. After assuring him that the day had been pleasant, I brought up my thought from earlier.

"Father Reilly, have you ever had any ideas of other activities for the boys to do?" I asked.

"Anna, I wish they had more to do, but we just don't have the resources to provide anymore than we already do," he sighed. "If you have any suggestions, please feel free to tell me."

I took a moment to ponder activities that wouldn't require an immense amounts of funding. "What if they had an art day once a week? It doesn't have to be structured. They can just draw or paint whatever they want. Art is amazingly relaxing."

"You know, that's great idea," Father Reilly admitted. "But aren't art supplies relatively expensive?"

"Usually, yes. But, I have a lot of supplies at home that I've barely used. I can bring them for the boys," I offered.

"Oh Anna, that's awfully generous, but are you sure?" I questioned.

"Yeah," I reassured. "I'm always fairly busy. I'll probably never get around to using them. I'll bring them tomorrow."

"That sounds great. Thank you," he said sincerely.

* * *

I arrived at my apartment, feeling more exhausted that I realized. Fortunately, I didn't have any classes tonight.

"Hi, Anna," a voice greeted from behind me. It was Selina Kyle, a woman a few years older than myself who lived in the apartment across from mine.

I waved in return. "Hey, Selina," giving a warm smile and entering my apartment. Selina lived a mysterious life, and despite how sneaky she was, it was apparent what she did. She stole to get by, but it was almost impossible to judge her. Excepting the elite, wealthy citizens and the few still involved with the mob, maintaining a stable life could be rough for average Gothamites. And from what I'd observed, she seemed to be a decent person.

I thought back to my promise to bring in the art supplies and began gathering them. I put everything I had together: sketch books, pencils, paint, brushes, pastels, and canvases. Looking at all the supplies made me remember how much I loved art. In high school, I had a bit of an art obsession, which greatly contributed to my lack of effort in my school work. But, since I had moved to Gotham, I never had time to focus on my art. Although I only had classes three times a week and an easy going job, I didn't have the energy to do much else besides eat, sleep, and occasionally read.  
Once they were arranged, I placed everything in two large bags so they would be easily transported in the morning; although, there was no way that I could walk to work. They were definitely much too heavy.

Now that I was finished with the supplies, I quickly changed into more comfortable lounging attire, putting on yoga pants and an over-sized t-shirt. I walked to the kitchen, retrieved some left over spaghetti from the refrigerator, and heated it up in the microwave. Taking the steaming Italian food out of the microwave, I plopped down on the couch and turned on the news. The days events were relayed, consisting of the usual robberies, assaults, and media distractions from the city's actual problems, along with a kidnapped congressman.  
Finishing my spaghetti and the last few minutes of the news, I switched the TV off and placed my plate and fork into the dishwasher.

After completing my nightly routine, I realized that it was only 8 o'clock, unreasonably early compared to what time I usually went to sleep, but I crawled in bed anyway. Settling comfortably, my mind wandered aimlessly, replaying the day in my head. I hoped the boys would enjoy creating art work as much as I did. I also found myself thinking about John. He seemed nearly perfect, but he was definitely hiding something. He was scarred in some way, and it was apparent from his less happier facial expressions that something was eating away at him in a way that I had only seen in the boys at St. Swithin's.  
Eventually, my brain allowed me a peaceful, undisturbed sleep until morning.

* * *

Two days had passed.

The boys liked using the art supplies more than I expected. I should have known that they would like to work with things that were messy, unorganized, and required very few rules. They wanted to have art days more than once a week, but the supplies were too expensive to use that often. Mark loved drawing, and he sketched endless Batman symbols until they were perfect.

My work day came to a close, and I left, heading straight to Gotham University. I had only one class tonight, fortunately, and because it was Friday, I would probably spend the rest of my night on the couch, watching a movie and devouring a carton of ice cream. My social life in Gotham wasn't exactly thriving. I had several close friends and many acquaintances, but my weekends were generally quiet.

After a three hour lecture on Media Law, it was 8 o'clock, and I was more than ready to be home. Gotham University was located in a declining part of the city, and on an ordinary night, I wouldn't dare walk home. But, taxis on the street were limited, and the traffic was lined bumper to bumper. Feeling courageous in the pleasant air, I left the campus and strode home. The walk wouldn't take more than twenty-five minutes, and I was actually looking forward to curling up with a good book of movie.

The sidewalks were unusually empty for a Friday night, but as I neared a rougher part of Gotham, I spotted flashing police cars surrounding a bar in an alley. The sounds of gunfire and bullets ricocheting resonated through the streets. Quickening my pace, a slightly familiar silhouette dashed sneakily out of the alleyway. I immediately recognized it as Selina, dressed formally in a short black dress and tall heels. Curious, I called out to her and walked promptly to where she was.

"Selina! What the hell is going on?" I asked.

"Making a getaway. Come on!" She demanded, grabbing my wrist and sprinting away from the scene, weaving through the alleys to remain hidden and pulling me along with her. It was amazing how she was able to move so quickly in her heels while I struggled pathetically in sandals. Once we were completely out of sight and hearing distance, she slowed her pace and let go of my wrist.

"Would you care to explain now?" I huffed, practically out of breath from running. I guess this was a sign that I needed to start working out again.

She motioned for me to be quiet. "I'll tell you later," she emphasized through almost gritted teeth.  
The remainder of the walk was silent except for the steady clicking of Selina's heels against the pavement.  
It only took a few more minutes to arrive at our apartment building, and once we were there, she brought me into her apartment. It was almost identical to mine except for the furniture, which varied slightly. She took a seat on the couch, and I sat on the chair beside it.

"Now," she said, "you wanted an explanation? Well, there isn't much to tell," she sighed sarcastically before continuing. "I stole Bruce Wayne's finger prints and was supposed to exchange them for the blank slate...which I didn't receive," she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Blank slate?" I questioned, completely confused as to what she was even talking about.

"Look," she said bluntly, "I'm telling you all this because I know I can trust you. You aren't like most people in Gotham."

"How would you know that?" I asked, raising a skeptical eye brow.

"I know more about you than you think. I also know that you had coffee with a cop the other day."

"Tea, actually," I corrected, shrugging.

She smiled and snorted at my comment. "I like you. But anyways," she resumed, "I don't want you repeating any of this, understand? Especially to your little cop friend."

"Got it," I assured. "So what's this blank slate?"

"It's a program. You in type your name and date of birth, and you're completely erased from every online database. I'd like to start fresh, but if you have a record like mine, it's impossible without it."

I nodded in understanding, but I was still confused in regards to the scene in alley. "So what does that have to do with all the cops showing up at the bar?" I asked.

"You know the congressman that's been missing?" she smiled slyly.

I made the connection, but I was in disbelief and wide-eyed. "You didn't."

She rolled her eyes again and kept explaining. "Anyways, I brought him as a decoy, good thing too," she paused, thinking, and continued. "I'll be right back," she said, standing from her place on the couch and disappearing into one of the other rooms. She returned carrying a black leather suit and a mask, a costume I recognized, as it regularly appeared in the Gotham Times, labeling her as a cat burglar and jewel thief.

"Anna, I know you know what I do," she began, "but I only take from those who have more than enough. I don't stand on the shoulders of those who have less," she assured.

I had no clue why she was showing me this, why she had trusted me with so much information, or why she had even trusted me in the first place. I also didn't have a clue what I was getting myself into.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 is ready! No long author's note this time, but I do want to thank everyone who is reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting. I received 2 reviews for the last chapter, and that is awesome! I hope you all enjoy the story!**

* * *

Saturday morning arrived exceedingly early, especially since I decided to wake up at 5:30 AM. Last night's sprint through the alleys of Gotham was certainly a wake-up call that I needed to get back into shape. I changed from my pajamas to athletic shorts and a t-shirt, tied my hair up in a loose ponytail, and began with a few minutes of yoga and stretching, also making an effort to hydrate before I proceeded. Ready to go, I laced up my old running shoes and left my apartment. There was a park a few blocks away that would be adequate for an early morning jog, and I walked there speedily to warm up. It was still fairly dark out, the streets illuminated by the lights of the skyscrapers and tall lamp posts. Several cars were on the street, as Gotham was a city that hardly slept, but the sidewalks were relatively empty.

Once at the park, I began to jog steadily on the cemented pathway designated for bicycles and pedestrians. Running was calming since I was moving at a pleasant speed and not being pulled quickly through dark alleyways.

As I ran, I thought back to the mystery of the previous night. Selina had explained her entire lifestyle as "Catwoman." I understood why she did what she did, and while I didn't approve, I couldn't bring myself to disapprove either. She also told me about a powerful, enigmatic man and his many advocates plotting to take control of Gotham in the near future, an event she described as _a storm coming_. She didn't know much, but she knew enough to know that these men should be feared, that they were not a force to be opposed. And though I had no way of knowing for sure, I suspected that these unknown men were somehow linked with the boys found in the sewers.

My constant-paced jogging lasted for about ten minutes before I slowed down to a walk. My legs were already fairly muscular and could run tirelessly due to my daily walks, but my lungs couldn't take the stress, making it even more apparent how important it was that I shape back up. And at this rate, it wasn't going to be quick or easy.

On the way home, the sun was rising, hidden behind the monstrous skyscrapers.

Arriving at my apartment, I hopped into a quick, steamy shower. Fortunately, the oncoming fall air was growing cooler and prevented me from sweating excessively, allowing me to enjoy the hot shower.

Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and put on jeans and a simple crocheted, green top. Drying my thick brown hair, I allowed the untamable wavy locks to flow as they pleased and clipped the front pieces out of my face, also applying foundation and mascara.

I cooked a small breakfast consisting of bacon and toast and decided that I would walk to The Grind. I hadn't gone back since my visit with John, and it seemed like a refreshing way to spend a Saturday. I stuffed the book I was currently reading, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, into my satchel and set out.

On my second walk into the city, the hustle and bustle was arising as Gotham's citizens rushed to their routine jobs, much busier than it had been at dawn. It took about half an hour to arrive at The Grind, but the longer trip was well worth it. Fewer people crowded the coffee shop than my past visit, and it was pleasantly quiet. I ordered an earl grey tea, and after receiving it, I sat back into the large chair by the fireplace, that was this time ablaze.

Sipping the delicious brew, I opened my book and read the words that floated across each page. The gentle cracking of the logs in the fire created a peaceful atmosphere. The tea was gone in minutes, and the remaining pages of the book dwindled as I sat for an unknown amount of time and turned one page after another. Time passed quickly along with the customers who came and went.

Closing the finished book, I stared down at the cover, feeling accomplished and enlightened after completing Victor Hugo's masterpiece.

"Anna?" a voice called, jolting my attention. "Hey," John said, smiling as I looked up at him holding his predictable mug of black coffee. He sat in the chair next to mine and took a sip of his brew.

"Hi John," I returned, slightly surprised to see him here today. He was clad in his police uniform, and an Asian man, who I assumed was his partner, was standing at the counter waiting for his order.

"How are things..." he began, "at St. Swithin's?"

Before I could answer, the other policeman approached.

"Anna, this is my partner, Ross," John introduced.

"Ohhh," Ross exaggerated, "this is Anna." He nudged John mockingly, and John's expression hardened as he tightened his jaw. Ross didn't appear to be such a joking and outspoken man, but looks can be deceiving. And in this case, they certainly were.

"Ross," John cleared his throat, "don't you have somewhere to be?" he said suggestively.

"Man, it was your idea for us to come here, but I get it. I'll leave," he surrendered. He stood up with his coffee, raised a hand to me, waving, and said, "Nice to meet you, Anna," sincerely this time.

"Yeah, you too," I replied.

John glared at him until he had left and then turned back to me. "So," he spoke, taking a long sip of coffee, "as I was saying, how's St. Swithin's?"

"It's good," I grinned. "We've finally found something new for the boys to do."

"That's great. What is it?" he questioned.

"They have an art day, so they can draw or paint or create whatever they want. Unfortunately, there aren't enough funds to provide the art supplies, so they're limited to once a week," I explained.

"Art?" he inquired skeptically

I then remembered that many people looked down upon art. Some appreciated it, while others didn't understand it and saw it as a waste of time, but I felt the need to defend it anyways. "Well, yeah," I began. "It isn't the manliest activity, but they can express themselves, and they really like it."

"No, no, I think it's a good idea," he assured. "I'd just hate for people to see what I would've drawn to express myself when I was there," John said in a dismal tone.

"Wait, what?" I asked, slightly taken aback.

He inhaled deeply and hesitantly and then explained. "I used to live at St. Swithin's. I grew up there," he admitted. I'd had my suspicions about John's connection to the orphanage, but I never assumed that he had been that closely linked.

I didn't have a clue what to say. "John, I had no idea." It certainly explained his indecipherable expression from the other day, the pain and hurt that was clearly visible. I took his free hand that laid on the arm rest instinctively and immediately realized my action was too forward, but when he didn't react negatively, I assumed it was okay and continued to hold it.

"Yep," he inhaled deeply again and stared absently into the flickering fire. "My mom died when I was small. Car accident, I don't really remember it." He paused for a moment before he continued. "But a couple of years later my dad was shot over a gambling debt. I remember that just fine."

"John..." I spoke, but I was at a loss for words and couldn't bring myself to say anything comforting.

He continued, still not looking at me, but gazing forward. "Not a lot of people know what it feels like, to be angry in your bones. People understand, foster parents understand. For a while. Then they expect the angry kid to do what he knows he can never do. To move on. To forget." His expression hardened as he recalled his experiences. "So they stopped understanding and sent the angry kid to a boys' home - St. Swithin's. See, I figured it out too late." He shook his head to himself and snorted. "You have to hide the anger, practice smiling in the mirror. Like putting on a mask." For the first time since he started confiding his memories and feelings, he looked at me, earnestly even. "But then there's you. I know you can't understand, but somehow you do because of how you care for those boys. It isn't for charity or because you feel obligated like everyone else."

There wasn't much else to say, so I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, smiled, and changed the subject. "So how's work in the policies force?" I asked.

"Things have been a little chaotic, more boys found in the sewer. We found the missing congressman last night, but there was some trouble and the commissioner was shot in the sewers," John relayed. I thought back to what Selina had told me about the powerful man named Bane, but I decided against telling John since I didn't know what he knew, and Selina had told me to keep quiet.

"Is he okay?" I wondered.

"He's in the hospital. He should be fine," he assured. "So you're an artist?" he inquired with interest.

"Well not really," I admitted. "Art was just more of a hobby in high school. Actually, it was an obsession, but I haven't painted anything since I moved here."

"Why not?"

"No inspiration, I guess..or energy."

"Maybe you'll get some," he suggested optimistically.

"I really hope not," I confessed, and he looked at me strangely. "I gave all my art supplies to the boys."

He chuckled lightly, and then glanced at his watch. "Shoot, I've got to get back to work," he announced. "My lunch break's over."

I had lost track of time long ago, and was unaware of how late in the day it was. "Lunch break? What time is it?"

"1:05," he replied.

"Wow, I've definitely gotta go too. I've been here over four hours," I laughed.

We said goodbye, and I was surprised when he pulled me into a one-armed hug. Taking our separate ways, he headed to the police station and I back to my apartment.

* * *

Back at home, I spent the afternoon watching movies on TV. _The Wizard of Oz_ was on, one of my favorites, and I relaxed the rest of the day. As night was approaching, I was unsure of what to make for dinner, so I decided upon breakfast for a second time: an omelette.

I was just finishing up when I heard a scuffle in the hall along with raised voices. I opened the door to see a man pinning a woman whom I recognized as Selina's friend against the wall. He had a fist raised to hit her, and Selina opened the door. But before I had even thought my action through, I grabbed the man's wrist, pulling him around to face me, and punched him swiftly across the jaw. He stumbled backwards, and Selina acted quickly, grabbing his arm forcefully.

"Get out," she growled.

"She took my wallet!" he insisted.

"Get out," she commanded once again, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. "Now." She released him, and he ran eagerly down the stairs to exit the building.

"I told you not to try it with the assholes, Jen," Selina said, turning to her friend.

"They're all assholes," Jen replied smugly.

"Okay, the assholes who hit."

Jen examined the wallet and announced, "I don't know what he's so upset about. He only had sixty bucks in here."

"Probably the watch," Selina grinned slyly.

"Watch?" Jen raised an eyebrow.

Selina revealed the expensive Rolex and tossed it to Jen who accepted it willingly. I had moved back into the doorway of my apartment to observe the situation.

Selina looked over at me before descending the stairs as well. "Nice swing you got there," she smirked.

I re-entered my apartment, settling back quietly on the couch with my freshly made omelette.

This week had continued to get more and more peculiar as it advanced. I was confused by my progressing relationship with John, and I was baffled by my alliance with Selina Kyle. I knew more about the arising danger in Gotham than most of the citizens, and yet I didn't know enough. But what surprised me the most was how I handled the disturbance in the hall. I had never been in violent situations, never had to defend anyone else or myself or even consider it. My swing seemed polished, skilled even, like I had practiced it, which obviously wasn't the case. I'd never hit anyone in my life. I was a nonviolent person, but I didn't appreciate people who took advantage of others and the weak, and something inside of me snapped. The only thing stranger than the fact that I hit the man was that it was effective.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Hello readers! Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows I've received for the previous chapters. Please continue giving your feedback! Here's Chapter 5, I hope you enjoy.**

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The weekend passed much too quickly, but I was thoroughly enjoying my new workout routine, waking up early for a jog in the park. I had spent a good amount of my Sunday, as much time as my stamina would permit, adding new exercises to my routine and deciding which were best for what I wanted to accomplish. Selina had even taken the liberty of showing me a few self-defense moves that night. She didn't teach me much, but she helped me perfect my swing and taught me a few basic techniques. She proclaimed that I was a fast learner; and although I wasn't sure why she had offered the help, I was positive that there had to be some ulterior motive.

It was early Monday evening. Most people dreaded Mondays, but I on the other hand, found them to be very pleasant. Mondays were short days for me. Due to my earlier, late-afternoon classes, I got off work around three. I had two one-hour courses and was able to enjoy the rest of the night peacefully. My work day had flown by almost as quickly as my classes, and now I was in a cab headed to my apartment. Although I should have taken advantage of the fact that it was still light out and walked home, I hailed a taxi instead, allowing my now aching muscles to relax. Despite the heavy traffic, I would get home faster by car than on foot. And besides, last time I decided to walk home from GU, I was thrown into the world of Selina Kyle.

The cab drove along the busiest freeways and through long tunnels until I finally arrived at my apartment. I handed the overweight, bearded driver a wad of cash and climbed out of the vehicle.

Outside my apartment, I unlocked the door and entered to see Selina Kyle on my couch, sitting with legs crossed, in full Catwoman attire. I gasped softly, surprised to see her in my living room.

"Happy to see me?" she asked sardonically, smirking.

"What are you doing here?" I rolled my eyes.

She threw me the leather material she was holding, and I caught it, identifying it as a suit identical to the one she was wearing. She stood up and walked to where I was standing and handed me a black mask and a pair of tall, high heeled boots. "You're coming with me."

"Oh, no. I'm not getting involved in whatever it is you're doing." I protested. I wasn't going to object to her lifestyle, but I wasn't going to take part in it either.

"Look, I'm not going to steal anything. I'm just going to get what Daggett owes me. He's a crook anyways," she explained, shrugging nonchalantly like it was no big deal that she was asking me to break into someone's home with her.

"Daggett?" I questioned, still not convinced. He was a very powerful man in Gotham, similar to previous mobsters in the city before the Dent Act.

"Yes, Daggett. Now get dressed, and straighten your hair," she demanded.

I began to protest, but stopped myself, sensing that it would have no effect. I walked to my bedroom to change as quickly as the tight leather costume would allow. Once I had adjusted the form-fitting suit, I straightened my uncontrollable waves, pulled on the mask along with the excruciatingly painful boots, and walked back to the living room. I was unsure unsure of why she advised me to straighten my hair, but I guess my curly hair was too characteristic and identifiable. Selina was gone, but immediately reappeared from her apartment, holding a tube of lipstick.

"Not bad," she observed. "Put this on." She handed me the lipstick, a dark crimson, darker than the shade she wore, and I applied it.

Standing in front of a mirror, I noticed how strikingly similar we looked in the costumes. She was a few inches taller, with darker brown hair and matching brown eyes, but we shared the same light ivory skin tone and could've passed for sisters. She had left the cat ears off of my disguise, which was perfectly fine with me.

"Come on," Selina commanded, opening a window that overlooked an alleyway and stepped out onto the fire escape. I followed, closing the window behind me. She was already on the ground walking away and I tentatively leaped off of the fire escape, landing painfully, thanks to my boots. Scrambling to catch up with her, I became more and more aware of my aching muscles along with the new discomfort of the shoes. We had to walk along the back alleys due to the sun that was still barely risen to stay out of sight.

"Don't worry about Daggett. His goons may seem dangerous, but they're harmless. Just remember what I showed you, and you'll be fine," she assured. "And here." She handed me a powerful-looking, black pistol.

I took it hesitantly. "I don't think..."

"You don't have to actually use it. Just make sure they know you aren't afraid to."

Nodding unsurely, I placed the pistol in the holster on my belt.

* * *

At Daggett's penthouse, Selina crouched at a safe that she assumed hid what we came here for - the clean slate - while I stood on guard, watching for Daggett himself or any of his henchmen. A TV monitor hung from the wall, the news displaying video footage showing a high speed chase in town of armed motorcyclists with hostages. The screen switched from the motorcyclists to an almost unknown, yet familiar masked man, Batman, weaving past and around the cars on the busy streets.

"Well, what do you know?" Selina grinned, surprised. She turned safe's dial a couple more times and opened it to find nothing. It was completely empty. She frowned and stood, walking silently to another part of the house. I stayed close behind, eventually taking a stance at opposite sides of a door frame.

"And can we get some girls in here?" A man, who I assumed was Daggett, requested loudly as he walked in.

Selina pursued him. "Careful what you wish for," she said, pushing and kicking him across the room, slamming him against the wall. He drew his gun, but she extended her leg, pinning his wrist to the wall as he stared at her in shock.

"Cat got your tongue?" She bantered, removing the gun from his hand.

"You dumb bitch," he choked.

"Nobody ever accused me for being dumb."

"You're dumb, for coming here tonight," he continued.

"I want what you owe me," she growled angrily.

"'I want' never gets..." he patronized.

Another man walked in, and I took my chances, moving away from my place at the door frame and following him.

"Nice outfit...those heels make it hard to walk?" The man questioned, raising a gun to the back of her head. In return, I raised the pistol Selina gave me to his head, cocking it. I wasn't planning to actually fire, but it distracted him well enough.

"I don't know. Do they?" She replied, spinning, and swiftly kicked the man, disarming him as well. She took hold of Daggett once again, but the man spoke up.

"You brought a friend?" He asked in disbelief. I gave him a kick this time and grabbed him tightly.

Selina returned her full attention to Daggett. "Where is it?" she demanded.

"Where's what?" He asked ignorantly.

"The program, the 'Clean Slate.'"

"Oh, yeah - the ultimate tool for a master thief with a record. I don't have it," he stated indifferently.

Another man, who appeared to be one of Daggett's body guards, entered with a large gun. Selina shot the nearest window and jumped through, pulling Daggett with her. Unsure of what to do, I shoved the man I was holding to the floor and sprang out the window after them, falling on to a rapidly descending window-cleaning platform. Once it landed on the roof, Selina stepped off of the platform, dragging Daggett with her and pushing him down.

She straddled him, holding him in place as I stood by her side on guard, and asked again, "Where is it?"

"The 'Clean Slate'? Where you type in someone's name and date of birth and within a couple hours that person ceases to exist in any database? Sound a little too good to be true?" Daggett said mockingly.

"You're lying," she snarled viciously. "Rykin Data took it to prototype stage."

"That's why I bought them. But they had nothing," he emphasized. "It was a gangland myth."

Selina leaned back from Daggett, still firmly pinning him to the roof and registered what he had just told her.

Large figures began to emerge from the shadows of the building. They were bigger than Daggett's guard, taller, more muscular, and greatly intimidating. "Selina," I said, trying to get her attention as I noticed their equally intimidating fire arms. "Selina!" I shouted this time in a strained voice. She finally looked up to see the men approaching us, appearing angry.

Acting quickly, she pulled Daggett up violently, grasping his arm behind his back and pressing her gun to his temple. "Stay back!" she warned the continuing pursuers. I raised my own pistol in a defensive stance, but the men ignored her warning and our drawn guns. "I'm not bluffing!" She threatened.

"They know," a mysterious, guttural voice announced from an unknown location. "They just don't care." One of the gunmen looked up at dark, cloaked figure - Batman?

He was distracted just long enough for Selina to lunge at him, grabbing his gun. In the mean time, Batman leaped down, taking out several of the men in the process and fighting the attacking gunmen. I re-holstered my pistol and began defending myself from pursuing men, attempting to disarm them with several kicks and jabs. I had successfully knocked their guns away, but their fists were still more than able.

Meanwhile, Selina fired the gun at the man, missing, and before she could fire again, Batman prevented her shot and knocked the man out.

"You've got to be kidding," she snapped unhappily.

"No guns. No killing," he growled.

"Where's the fun in that?" She spat, continuing to fight the men around her.

I was surrounded my three men, all of whom I had disarmed, but I was struggling against their unmatchable muscle mass and skilled fighting techniques. I elbowed one of the men in the jaw and kicked another, making an effort to jab the pointy heel of my boot into his shin, unable to escape a powerful blow to the stomach from the third man. He was overtaken my Batman, but not before bestowing several more unavoidable, painful punches to my midsection.

More henchmen appeared on the roof, and Batman ran to the edge. "Come on!" He called. Selina and I followed, seeing Batman jump from the roof before we reached the edge. We looked over the edge at the alley below and leaped simultaneously as gun shots began to fire around us. Landing on top of the strange, black vehicle, we slid in as the top closed behind us.

"My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men," Selina stated, strapping in.

"This isn't a car," Batman retorted, starting the vehicle and maneuvering it off the ground. It ascended into the air and flew over the building, revealing a menacingly massive, masked man below, who I rightfully assumed was Bane. "Who's your friend?" He asked.

"That's not important," I said irritatingly, beginning to feel the pain along my ribs and stomach.

The aircraft roared over the skyscrapers, and we rode in silence until we reached a building to land on safely. The vehicle parked on top of another roof, and I was the first to exit, Selina following behind.

She the turned back to Batman. "See you around," she said coyly.

"You're welcome," he said, climbing out after us.

"We had it under control," she defended.

"Those weren't street thugs. They were trained killers," he informed.

"Yeah, they were real harmless," I snapped at Selina, slightly perturbed at her false judgement. The discomfort of the boots and soreness of my entire body was negatively effecting my mood.

"I saved your lives. In return," he said looking to Selina, "I need to know what you did with Bruce Wayne's prints."

"Wayne wasn't kidding about a powerful friend," she paused. "I sold his prints to Daggett for something that doesn't even exist," she explained, rolling her eyes.

"I doubt many people get the better of you."

"Hey, when a girl's desperate..."

"What were they going to do with them?" He asked, concerned.

"I don't know, but Daggett seemed pretty interested in that mess at the stock market."

Batman looked away, considering the situation and watched a police cruiser passing by. Selina and I took this opportunity to disappear unnoticed, escaping from the top of the roof.

The walk back to our apartments was exhausting, but I kept up with Selina's pace, unwilling to reveal how tired I actually was.

"Not bad for your first time," she admitted, coming as close to a compliment as could be expected from her.

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically. "I really enjoyed taking on three assassins twice my size."

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	6. Chapter 6

**Hello readers! Thank you so much for returning to the story. I greatly appreciate the reviews I received on the last chapter and everyone who is keeping up with this story. I really hope that you all are enjoying it so far and will continue reading. I hate to sound cliché by suggesting this, but I recommend listening to the Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises soundtracks. You can do it while you read or anytime, but I definitely recommend listening to them because Hans Zimmer - the composer - is a genius, and the music is incredibly powerful and really captured the essence of Christopher Nolan's masterpiece. Enough with the author's note, now onto Chapter 6!**

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The obnoxiously annoying beeps of my alarm clock rang impatiently in my ears. Struggling desperately to climb out of bed, I vividly remembered the previous night's events. As I sat up, an excruciating pain along my torso jolted me fully awake. My entire body was wracked by various aches as I walked to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I took in my appearance. I was a complete mess to say the least. My straightened hair had curled back up somewhat, and I was barely dressed, wearing an oversized t-shirt that I don't remember changing in to. In fact, I hardly remember anything past the walk home. I lifted my shirt to reveal my stomach and ribs, splotched heavily with varying shades of deep purple bruises.  
I stepped into the shower, allowing the almost unpleasant streams of hot water to wash over me, and I slowly got ready for work. Unfortunately, I was forced to skip my daily exercise routine. Not only was my body unforgivingly sore, but my exhaustion left me barely coherent.

Too lazy to make a well-balanced breakfast, I grabbed an apple as I exited my apartment. Although I enjoyed walking to work, that was also out of the question, so I took a less than desirable cab because I was unable to bring myself to exert any unnecessary energy. Last night's endeavors had delivered an unexpected, brutal effect, resulting in hangover-like symptoms.

Today, work was less secretarial and more interactive because the boys insisted that their art day be moved to Tuesdays. It was apparent that they just wanted to move the day sooner, not particularly caring what day it was on, because they were bored out of their minds. As I suspected, they had gotten tired of sports, an activity they once loved but were never given anything else to do.  
Before we got started, I checked _The Gotham Times_ online newspaper to see that Bruce Wayne has lost all of his money and Wayne Enterprises was now in the hands of Daggett, which certainly explains the ordeal with his finger prints and last night's events.

Preparing the art supplies on several tables, I laid out brushes, tubes of paint, and cups of water. Last week was focused mainly on drawing, and the boys wanted to venture further with the acrylic paints.  
The boys mixed colors and smoothed the hues across the plain white canvasses, unknowingly creating abstract depictions of their emotions.

As noon was approaching, we began to put away the supplies so the boys could go eat lunch. Like most of the boys, I was elbow-deep in various colors of paint, and we cleaned the mess until the room looked as it had before.  
While the boys went to eat, I returned to the front desk. Looking out the window, I observed the once sunny day turn into a rapid downpour. The rain fell incessantly, and although I loved the rain, it prevented my chances of getting lunch, which I unfortunately forgot to pack. Hailing a taxi in the rain was an absolute waste of time, considering I would be soaked afterwards.  
Moments later, the door swung open, bell ringing, and a dripping John walked in holding a paper bag. I stifled a laugh at his rushed appearance, his hair saturated by the rain.

"John, what are you doing?" I questioned lightheartedly.

"Hey Anna," he breathed. "I brought you something." He motioned to the paper sack, which had barely survived the rainstorm. I raised an quizzical eyebrow and grinned, fully curious. "I hope you like Mexican," he stated unsurely.

I stared at him a few seconds in disbelief. _He brought me lunch?_  
I shook my head to myself and giggled softly. "What? You don't like it." He shifted on his feet awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"No," I assured, realizing he had gotten the wrong idea. "No, I love Mexican food. I just can't believe you brought me lunch," I admitted. His kindness never failed.

"Yeah, well, I was on my way back to work from visiting the commissioner, and I thought you might be hungry, so..."

"You are probably the sweetest person I've ever met," I blurted. He revealed a wide smile, dimples and all, and I waved for him to come behind the front desk. I pulled up an extra chair for him as he emptied the bag, setting out the boxed aromatic tacos.  
We ate pleasantly, devouring the spicy foods.

"So what happened last night at the stock market?" I asked, wanting to learn more about the high-speed chase and what I had gotten myself into with Daggett.

"We didn't know at first, but all of Bruce Wayne's shares at Wayne Enterprises were transferred to John Daggett. Now Wayne's broke, but Daggett's body was found in a dumpster. And his name is all over the permits I pulled to map the tunnels under Gotham," he explained, putting the pieces together. Daggett was funding whatever it is Bane is doing in the sewers, and he was obviously just a pawn, an expendable object in Bane's master plan. I wasn't familiar with his strategy, tactics, or even his purpose, but so far, this much was easy to figure.

I took the last bite of my taco, and looked at John. "You have no idea how hungry I was. Thank you," I smiled.

"No problem. Maybe we can go get dinner sometime," he stated in a way that sounded like a question. His almost timid expression and boyish dimples made it impossible to refuse.

"Yeah, that sounds great," I concurred. John seemed to be the type of person who was sure of himself and persistent, but he was still humble and not overly confident. It was an even balance that left me wondering, once again, whether or not he was perfect.

I grabbed the empty take-out boxes and threw them in the garbage. Noticing my paint-splattered arms, he asked curiously, "Art day?"

"Yeah, I think I have more paint on me than the canvases do," I bantered. "But the boys really like it, and it's something new to do around her. Wanna see what they've done so far?"

"Sure," he agreed. I took him to the room that we used for random activities, now art. The supplies were all put away, organized in their appropriate locations, but the paintings were still set on the tables to dry. "Wow." He stared at each individual painting, most of which were abstract. Some were realistic, and each boy possessed his own level of artistic talent. Mark had once again used his Batman fascination for his inspiration and had painted the symbol decoratively. Other paintings consisted of different patterns and mixtures of color schemes.

"They're very creative," I spoke.

"Yeah, they are," he responded mindlessly, still gazing over the artwork. He stopped at Mark's Batman creation and stared intently, analyzing. "Did Mark do this?" He asked, somehow recognizing Mark's interest.

* * *

"I have to get back to work," John admitted back in the front room. "So, dinner Friday night?"

"Sure," I agreed, walking with him to the door. "Thanks again for lunch."

"Anytime." His fairly familiar wide grin showcased his characteristic dimples and conveyed a warm sincerity, wrapping me into an unexpected hug that was different from the one-armed, side hug at The Grind: a real, comfortable, genuine hug that was irresistible despite the sharp discomfort I felt on my ribs, triggering an involuntary, and hopefully unnoticeable, cringe.

"I'll call you," he assured, pulling away and opening the door, revealing a solid rainfall.

"Goodbye officer."

"Detective," he corrected, smiling proudly. I watched him hurry to his police cruiser parked down the street, get in, and drive away.

* * *

The rain had eventually ceased, and the night was quiet. I sat on my couch, flipping channels aimlessly, searching for a channel that probably didn't exist. There was nothing on TV, and although I was exhausted, I couldn't bring myself to go to bed. It was getting late, probably past midnight, but for the second night in a row, I was unfortunately awake.  
I yawned, switched off the TV, and was going to head to my room when I saw Selina climbing silently through my window, clad as Catwoman.

"Seriously?" I groaned tiredly. "What was it tonight?"

"I took Batman into the sewers to Bane." She looked eerily nervous, especially for her, and her voice was nearly a whisper through gritted teeth.

"And?" I asked, curiously worried.

"He didn't come back," she said slowly. "And..."

"What?" I demanded, growing more anxious.

"Batman is Bruce Wayne." She closed her eyes for a moment, considering what she had just told me.

It took a few seconds for me to comprehend what she hold told me before I could respond. "Is he...dead?"

"I'm not sure, but I've got to get out of here," she explained, "before it's too late. I'm leaving tomorrow. Come with me," she suggested persuasively.

"I can't." I didn't know why I protested. Maybe it was because Gotham finally was starting to feel like home, or maybe it was somehow because of John, but I couldn't leave.

"I knew you'd say that," she shrugged. "I don't know why you want to stay in this god-forsaken city, but you'll definitely need to know how to protect yourself now. These guys are worse than you can imagine."

She then proceeded to show me, at one in the morning, more advanced self-defense and fighting techniques, focusing mostly on stealth and agility. She also informed me that I needed to continue working out and gave me advice from her personal combative experience.

"Good luck," she said leaving my apartment. She turned around in the door frame. "You'll need it."

"You too. Bye Selina."

Selina was leaving. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was possibly dead. The police force was the only hope for the city, and I had to help somehow or live with the guilt. Gotham City would soon be in flames. Whether they were theoretical or literal, I didn't know, but there had to be a way to stop Bane or at least slow him down. Either way, there weren't many options. Selina had dragged me into her world.  
Now there was no masked vigilante to leap from building to building and save the city. The only thing that separated me from the rest of the citizens was that I knew. I knew about Bane, and I knew about Batman. And although I had no idea how I could help, I guessed it would somehow have to involve my new costume and rookie fighting skills.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Hello and welcome to Chapter 7. Thank you so much for reading thus far in the story. The reviews you guys have given are awesome! Don't forget to keep them coming. I hope you've enjoyed it and will continue to!**

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Two more days had passed. I hadn't had any contact with Selina since her departure, and Batman certainly hadn't come back. I was on my own and completely perplexed.  
It was Thursday evening, and I was on my way home from work. The night before, I had devised a very unsure and most-likely flawed plan. I would have to get the police involved early; although, they probably couldn't provide much help. But in a time as desperate as this, any assistance available was necessary. I decided to give Commissioner Gordon a visit at Gotham General. At my apartment, I gathered the required "equipment" and headed for the hospital around seven o'clock, garbed as a nurse with a surprisingly authentic-looking employee I.D. that I had made last night on my computer and scrubs I had purchased on my lunch break. My hair was straightened in its unfamiliar, disguised style and pulled into a ponytail fit for a night shift at the hospital.

* * *

At Gotham General, I made my way to a nurses' station on the second floor, nodding and smiling discreetly at passing nurses and doctors, gripping my large, costume-filled purse tightly. The desk was surprisingly empty. Several nurses tended to their assigned patients on the floor, carrying IV bags, medications, and syringes and walking briskly with purpose. I sat unnoticed at the computer and searched for Jim Gordon's room number. Discovering that he occupied room 403, I closed out of the hospital's patient database and walked as calmly as possible to the nearest elevator, pressing the up arrow and guiding it to the fourth floor.  
Glancing around the hallways, I determined where Gordon's room was located and slipped into a custodial closet, locking it behind me. I changed out of the nurse's disguise and pulled on my black jumpsuit, heels, mask, and took my hair down. The room was filled with cleaning supplies and a large garbage can in which I attempted to discard the big, cheap purse and nurse uniform from sight. As cliché it was, I climbed clumsily into the air vent and began searching for the commissioner's room. The duct was dark. The only light entered from the rooms below, and some patients had already turned their lights off for the night. Crawling as silently as possible in the metal duct, I looked into various rooms, taking several wrong turns before arriving at the correct room. I peeked through the metal window before popping it out. The commissioner looked up from the TV at the sound, shocked, and I motioned for him to keep quiet, raising a leather gloved finger to my lips. A risky attempt of flipping out of the compact vent resulted in an unexpectedly successful landing.

"Who...who are you?" He asked, almost stuttering, adjusting his glasses and struggling to prop up in the white hospital bed.

"A friend," I started, trying to assure in a mysterious way and taking a few steady steps toward him. "I know about Bane and his men in the sewer."

"How do I know I can I trust you?" He questioned, still seeming baffled.

"You don't," I paused. "But right now, I'm all you have."

He cleared his throat and began to slowly relax. "What do you know?"

"Not much," I surrendered. "But these guys are planning to take over the city, and they're tough. You and your cops better do something before it's too late." I thought for a moment intently. "It already may be."

He took in what I had to say, and asked, "What do you know about the Batman?"

"He can't help us anymore," I explained, unsure of if I had conveyed my point or even if I understood the situation myself. "I'll keep you updated." I walked to the window and opened it, glancing down to estimate the height.

"Good luck," Gordon spoke. "We'll all need it." He gave me a somewhat trusting smile as I climbed through the window and stepped onto the ledge. Crouching, I looked for ledges below. I definitely hadn't thought this through and immediately regretted my new found bravery. The ledge for the third-floor window below was a good eight feet down. I held on to the ledge with a tight grip and swung my feet until I dropped on the desired platform. Success. The next attempt was also accomplished, but the swing to the second floor's ledge was not so lucky. Before I could comprehend my miscalculation, I dropped to the solid asphalt, my body slamming on the harsh ground.  
The brutal impact left me too stunned to release any outcry of pain as I landed on my back, and all breath was pushed completely out of my lungs. I hoped desperately that no one had noticed the fall since I had landed on the sidewalk facing the street. Struggling to crawl into the side alley out of sight, I eventually attempted to stand, but the sharp, stabbing pain in my back prevented any such movement. I sat for a moment, hidden by the shadows of the dark alley, trying to catch my breath and regain strength. Ironically, I was in need of medical attention at a hospital, but I couldn't go in. There was no way I could explain my situation, especially in the costume. Somehow, by the miracle of an adrenaline rush, I found the power to walk slowly to my apartment, making sure to remain unseen.  
Once I arrived home, I checked my phone to see that John had called. As happy as I should have been to hear from him, I was too distracted by the unforgiving ache overpowering my spine. Peeling off the leather suit along with the excruciating heels and mask, I fell carelessly onto my bed and called him back, noticing that it was a little after eleven and hoping he was still awake.

After about the fifth ring, a semi-groggy voice answered. "Hello?"

"John?" I asked, hoping regretfully that I hadn't woken him up.

"Hey Anna," he spoke, his voice adjusted to a more alert and livelier tone.

"I didn't wake you up did I?"

"No," he assured. "I was watching TV."

"Sorry it took so long to call back. I was..studying," I paused, adding an unnecessary groan to my explanation in hopes of sounding believable. I didn't like lying, especially to such a seemingly honest person like John, but it was unavoidable.

"I feel your pain," he joked. In the literal sense, I truly hoped he didn't. "I had to fill out paperwork all morning." He took a brief pause. "Are you still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," I answered with an involuntary smile, "but I have class until eight."

"I'll pick you up at your place at eight-thirty."

"You don't know where I live," I corrected.

"I'll find it. I'm a detective," he bantered.

"John?"

"Yeah?" He asked, suppressing a yawn.

"That's incredibly creepy," I released an uncontrollable giggle.

His voice returned to its original sleepy tone. "Goodnight Anna."

"Night John."

* * *

Friday morning, the pain was stronger than it had been the morning after I accompanied Selina to Daggett's, and I questioned how my obvious lack of ability would hinder me further. The bruises on my ribs had already started to fade from their dark purple and were no longer sensitive, but the soreness of my back was unmatchable. Any sudden movements, or even none at all, triggered a sharp wave of insane discomfort. Trying to sit up in bed was impossible, and I eventually had to roll out awkwardly. Hobbling to the bathroom, I focused intently on not cringing with every step, but the fall had been worse than anticipated, even just after it occurred. I showered, brushed my teeth, and completed my morning routine, taking extra time on my hair. I wouldn't have much time to get ready after I got home from class, so I styled my hair into soft, tame-looking curls that differed dramatically from my usual unruly waves. After applying some makeup and getting dressed in my work appropriate attire, I walked to the kitchen to prepare a nice breakfast. After making a slice of buttered toast with a side of grapes, I plopped onto the couch and turned on TV.

_Several Gothamites reported to have seen a mysterious woman plummet from a window at Gotham General._

The news reporter's headline jolted my attention, and I turned the volume up as she continued.

_Witnesses claim that the woman was disguised, masked, and strongly resembled Gotham's notorious jewel thief, Selina Kyle, also known as Catwoman. But sources confirm that the woman is not Kyle, who was admitted to Blackgate Prison on Wednesday. Hospital employees and patients deny seeing the woman, leaving her identity unknown._

The news station cut to commercial after the segment finished. My jaw hung agape, beyond stunned that citizens had seen my incident, reported it, and it had been featured on the news. This was not good.  
The broadcaster had even gone so far as to compare me to Batman, suggesting that my link to the tall building somehow legitimized my newly given label as "Batgirl." Unfortunately, now I had to be even more careful about working in secret; although, I was in no physical condition to attempt heroism at the moment, so "Batgirl" would laying low for a while. On the positive side, it gave me more time to plan, so I wouldn't form over-night schemes that resulted in climbing through air ducts and twenty foot drops from hospital windows.  
I switched the TV off, continuing to contemplate what I had seen and heard about my alter-ego. The news media was great about skewing information or blowing things out of proportion, creating my newest "Batgirl" problem.

Grabbing my purse and locking the door, I headed for work, hailing a cab. On the way, I allowed my mind to drift from last night's ordeal to tonight's upcoming dinner with John.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, and welcome to Chapter 8. It's been a little over a week since my last update, and I'm very sorry that it has taken longer than usual. My schedule has unfortunately grown busier and busier over the past couple of weeks. I will update, I promise, but you'll have to bear with me. Anyways, thanks so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. You guys are great. I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

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Friday went by relatively slower than I had hoped and anticipated. At work, no visitors came, no files had to be sorted, and the boys had nothing to do except for play basketball as usual. Even my lunch break, which usually flew by, seemed to drag on. For most of the day, I sat idly at the computer, periodically checking on the boys, and I thought intently about the news broadcast of this morning.

An even greater pressure weighed upon my shoulders to help the city now that citizens had seen "Batgirl," a costumed figure they assumed would be another crime fighter. The report had raised expectations, and the people of Gotham didn't deserve to have their hope destroyed, hope they would soon need.

After completing my shift, I took a cab to Gotham University, still too sore for the physical effort of walking to school. The sharp pain in my spine had eased, only attacking me during sudden movements or over exertion, but there was a constant discomfort that never slackened. The cab arrived on time, and I stepped out, hurrying to my class as quickly as my body allowed. My usual Friday night Media Law course dragged on for its allotted three hours, and my professor's monotone voice caused my mind to lose focus, zoning blankly out of the lecture and into tonight's future dinner with John. I suddenly had butterflies, feeling like a fifteen year-old girl. I hadn't had a date in years. In fact, I'd pretty much given up on dating altogether. My high school experience was unsuccessful, and since my move to Gotham, I'd been more than antisocial, busy with school and work.  
Unaware of how much time had passed, class was finally completed and dismissed.

It was eight o'clock, and I was on my to my apartment to get ready, hoping that I would have time before John came to pick me up. The taxi drove annoyingly slow in the crammed traffic, and I arrived home with ten minutes to get dressed. I searched my closet for an outfit that was acceptable for a date, an outfit I didn't own. I decided upon a simple, flowing black dress, lengthened a few inches above the knee with a flattering, yet modest neckline. I tried on a pair of heels, but they were too painful on my almost blistered feet, and I settled on more comfortable flats. Rushing to the bathroom, I touched up my makeup, ran my fingers through my still perfectly curled hair, and brushed my teeth. With no time to spare, there was a knock at my door, and I dashed to open it, grabbing my purse on the way.  
I unlocked my door and opened it to see John standing with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He wore nicely dark washed jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked great, showing off his dimples with a closed mouth smile.

"You found me," I joked, referring to our conversation from last night.

He chuckled lightly, removing his hands from his pockets. "Yeah, I also ran a full background check," he said, deadpan. I shot him a strange look, taken aback, and he raised his hands innocently. "I'm kidding," he assured, laughing heartily, and I released a giggle myself, revealing a smile. "You ready to go?" He asked. I exited my apartment, locking the door behind me, and we descended the stairways. We walked to his car, a red sedan, parked outside, and for some reason, a part of me almost expected his police cruiser. We got into the car, and he drove off into the streets of heavy traffic.

After minutes of mindless laughing and conversation, I became curious. "So where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see," he grinned, almost mischievously, turning onto a street of Gotham that I had never been on. I raised an eyebrow and him, and he simply snorted at my response. The rest of the car ride lasted for no more than five minutes. John parked the car in front of a bricked building that was several stories high, located in an unfamiliar alley. He hopped out of the car and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for me. His gentlemanliness never ceased to amaze me. Locking the car, he placed a gentle, steady hand on the small of my back, leading me to the still-unknown restaurant.

The inside contrasted greatly with the plain-looking outside. Crystal decorations furnished the white clothed tables, and elegant light fixtures sparkled dazzlingly around the gorgeous restaurant. John had made reservations, and a waiter led us promptly to our table. The menu featured delicious sounding dishes that made it almost impossible to decide. John ordered a steak, and I picked the shrimp scampi. I was not the type of girl who ordered salads on dates in hopes of pleasing the guy, especially when shrimp was available. We sat pleasantly, talking about our jobs, our lives, and laughed happily, waiting for the food. Ironically, I hadn't even known John's age, which he informed me was 26, four years older than myself.  
Our steaming plates of food arrived, the aromas tingling my sense of smell. We dug in, devouring our meals in silent bliss.  
The check arrived soon after, and John pulled out his wallet, still taking bites of his tender-looking, perfectly grilled steak. He placed a credit card into the check holder, and I gave him an unsure glance, knowing the meal was certainly pricey.

"John..?" I began skeptically. I knew he would insist on paying, but I had to at least try to offer part of the bill.

He threw me a persevering, almost stern glance and assured, "Anna, seriously, it's fine." I couldn't prevent the smile that spread widely across my lips, caused by his attempt to be serious that only resulted in making him look even more adorable. It was apparent that he constantly tried to maintain a hard exterior, but if you looked closely, his truly sensitive personality was plainly visible. The waiter took the check, brought John's card back, and we left.

He opened the car door for me once again, and I sat comfortably in the leather passenger seat. Traffic was even heavier with the hustle and bustle of a Friday night in Gotham City, and the car ride back to my apartment was even longer than the commute to the restaurant. The hearty, rich meal in my stomach matched with my prior exhaustion made staying awake horribly difficult. It was nearing ten-thirty, and it was obvious that John was tired as well from a rough day at work. The car ride consisted of senseless conversation the rest of the way back home.  
Once at my apartment complex, we both got out of the car, and he walked me inside from the barely lit sidewalk like a perfect gentleman. We ascended the stairways, John following close behind me until we reached my door. Outside my apartment door, I turned to face him. He looked happy, but there was also a hint of distress upon his features, as if he was thinking intently about something.

"Thanks for dinner, John," I said sincerely. "It was great." And it was, not just the food, but spending time with him.

His expression lightened, and he grinned. "Maybe it can be a regular thing,"  
he suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," I smiled, looking into his bright, chocolate-colored eyes.

His expression hardened again, and he spoke seriously, changing the subject. "Anna," he began, placing a protective grip on my forearm. "Please try to be careful."

"What?" I asked, caught off guard. I then realized that he was talking about Bane, someone that citizens hadn't yet encountered; therefore, I technically shouldn't really know about him.

"Be careful," he repeated, pausing for a moment. "The streets aren't safe anymore," he informed without giving away any detailed information.  
Before I could respond, his expression changed once more, and he leaned down closely, placing his soft lips on mine. A combination of butterflies and fireworks took over my senses as I responded, kissing him back gently. Eventually, he pulled away, his hand still around my arm. "Goodnight," he whispered, giving me a tender peck on the forehead and turned to descend the steps.

I unlocked the door, walked in, and locked it behind me. Walking to my room, I stripped off the dress and sandals and put on a t-shirt, plopping onto the bed and thinking about my kiss with John before falling quickly to sleep. It was exactly like something you'd expect in a movie but nothing you'd actually anticipate happening in real life, gentle and passionate all at the same time.

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